


and in the morning, i'm making waffles

by phae



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's finally landed his man, and now he's got every intention of keeping him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in the morning, i'm making waffles

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't recognize the title, shame on you! :P That's one of Donkey's most iconic lines from _Shrek_.
> 
> This was completely inspired by the fact that I went and got myself the cheapo 'Vengers waffle iron with the A imprint and went to make waffles for the first time and was very dsitraught to learn that there were no instructions for waffles on the Aunt Jemima box. Unlike Clint, I decided to fly by the seat of my pants with it. It was more or less successful? I mean, I didn't burn 'em at least.

Clint wakes up warm. Too warm, actually. Even when his shitty radiator isn’t on the fritz, it never manages to get his apartment _this_ warm.  He worms around trying to get free of the mound of blankets weighing down his chest, but it’s like they’re molded to him, following every which way he wriggles. With a displeased grunt, Clint’s eyes squint open to survey the situation.

 

Huh. Not a nest of blankets. An arm. A warm and divinely muscled arm attached to an even warmer and deliciously naked super soldier.

 

With a dopey grin quickly taking over his face, Clint rolls into Steve’s body heat and starts messily kissing his way from Steve’s bulging pectorals up to the defined cords of his neck.

 

Clint can feel the faint rumble of Steve’s chest as he groans and mumbles something, but it falls on deaf ears—quite literally. “Can’t hear you, numbnuts,” Clint mutters into Steve’s shoulder with a snort. The slap he receives on his ass is communicative enough under the circumstances. Clint rolls away to fumble for his hearing aids on the night stand, feeling down right giddy all of a sudden (which is a weird enough way for Clint to feel, nevermind for him to be feeling it when he’s just woken up; Steve’s a goddamn miracle worker, and Clint can at least admit in the privacy of his own head that Steve’s miracle working mojo has little to do with his dick, fantastic as it is, and a lot more to do with his adorable bedhead).

 

Clint fits in his aids one-handed and flips them on, then drags his body across the bed on his elbows until he’s in a prime position to hoist himself up and on top of Steve’s chest. He flops down with a satisfied grin, chirping, “Morning.”

 

“Why’re y’wake?” Steve grumbles.

 

Poking Steve in the chest pointedly, Clint teases, “Don’t tell me all it takes to get Captain Early Bird to sleep-in is a good hard fuck?”

 

Steve tries to move away from Clint’s prodding finger, but there’s nowhere for him to go with Clint laying on him. Reduced to giving in to the poking, Steve’s eyes slit open just enough to glare at him blearily. “I’ll give _you_ a good hard fuck.”

 

Clint laughs at that, sharp and sweet. “Mission already accomplished, soldier.” Smacking a sloppy kiss over Steve’s heart, Clint pushes up onto his hands and starts to carefully work his way over Steve so he can crawl out of the bed.

 

Steve’s hands immediately follow him, his fingers flitting over Clint’s sides with little aim or purpose. “Hey, where’re you going?”

 

“I’m gonna make you breakfast.”

 

“S’too early,” Steve complains, and _holy shit_. Clint was only joking before, but did he seriously wear Steve out to the point of total exhaustion? _Awesome_.

 

Smiling down at Steve dopily, Clint leans down to leave a little peck of a kiss at the corner of Steve’s mouth. “So keep sleeping, lazy butt.”

 

Steve groans and rolls over so that he’s facing Clint, nuzzling his head down into Clint’s spare pillow. “How’m I s’pposed to go back t’sleep when my blanket’s abandoin’ me?” he slurs.

 

“Yeah, well,” Clint drawls, backing away from the bed and looking around the floor for where his pants ended up. “I gotta start cooking now if I wanna make enough for Mr. Metabolism for when he’s done napping.”

 

“Or y’could stay right here.” Clint looks up from the floor to see that Steve seems to be indicating his lap for Clint to plop back down on, which is a very tempting offer, but Clint has a plan here, okay? One that hopefully ensures that lap and all the rest of Steve stay on offer for him to snuggle up on for a good long time to come.

 

Giving up on finding his discarded pants from last night, Clint pulls out the first pair of sweatpants he finds in his drawers and shucks them on. “Hold that thought, lover boy. First I gotta make breakfast. Then breakfast in bed. Followed up by lazy make out cuddles.”

 

“Gotta ‘ppreciate a man with a plan.” When Clint glances over, Steve’s peeking at him over the little mound of the pillow with a half-lidded eye, his smile easy and sleepy. Clint can’t help but grin back.

 

“Damn right,” he replies with a nod. “Now appreciate my fine ass while I walk outta the room.” He gives a little shimmy on his way through the door and is rewarded with a muffled snort from Steve.

 

Clint trots down the steps from the loft with a definite skip to his step. Not his fault; Steve’s got that effect on lots of people just by the grace of flashing them a smile. A night spent getting to ride that super soldier cock? Yeah, no one can fault Clint for being in good spirits just this once before the sun’s officially up.

 

Clint’s pretty sure he’s never been this happy in his life. He’d even go so far as to term it _incandescent joy_. And now that he’s lucked out enough to get something this good in his life, he’s determined to hold on to it, to make this thing with Steve _work_. He’s going to learn from all his past relationship mistakes and be the kind of dream boyfriend that are usually only to be found in sappy romances.

 

And the first step to locking it down with Steve is nailing his favorite breakfast: waffles. (People love it when you remember the little things about them without having to be told; Clint learned that one a little too late the first time around.) Simple enough. Well, Clint assumes. He’s never actually made waffles before.

 

In his kitchenette, Clint pulls the waffle iron out of the bottom cabinet where it’s been since he bought it two weeks ago. It’s still in the box, and the official Avengers marketing logo is emblazoned on the front. Quickly removing all the packaging, Clint sets the iron out on the little bit of counter space he’s got.

 

It’s meant to cook the waffles in the form of Cap’s shield, which made Clint laugh in the middle of the aisle as soon as he set eyes on it. When Steve gets a look at his little star-stamped waffles, he’ll probably shoot Clint that utterly unimpressed deadpan stare he whips out when people are being exasperating on purpose. Clint can’t wait.

 

Clint dives into what passes for a pantry in his apartment and starts shoving things aside looking for the pancake mix. In his defense, he did have a whole thing planned out where he was going to learn how to make waffles from scratch and get in a few practice rounds so he didn’t burn them when Steve came over, but the situation a la Steve progressed a lot more rapidly than he’d anticipated, and now Clint’s got to improvise.

 

Except that the pancake box doesn’t have any instructions for waffles on the back. He knows people definitely use the stuff for waffles; he’s seen it. But he’s got no clue what the ratio of ingredients is meant to be, so that’s a problem.

 

He can’t mess this up. His whole Keep Steve With Me plan hinges on turning their perfect first night together into a prefect first morning together, and the key to that is some futzing amazing waffles.

 

(It’s a positive reinforcement thing. Slowly but surely, he’s going to get Steve associating him with all of his favorite things so that when the new relationship shine starts to wear off, hopefully Steve won’t want to bow out.)

 

Which brings him back to the waffles, and his complete lack of waffle-making know how.

 

Thing is, Steve knows how to make waffles. Steve makes _the best_ waffles. And he’s right upstairs, snoozing in Clint’s bed.

 

Would that count as cheating, asking Steve how to make waffles so that he can impress Steve by making waffles?

 

Granted, Steve-assisted waffles have got to be better than Clint-throws-some-stuff-in-the-bowl-and-hopes-for-the-best waffles.

 

After weighing the pros and cons for a couple minutes, Clint creeps back up to the loft. He may lose a little time just standing there watching Steve sleep, but he’s positive anyone would when presented with Steve spread out across their sheets, asleep on his stomach with miles of beautiful skin on display and all the glorious muscles of his back standing out in full effect.

 

Steve shifts, moaning in his sleep as he hugs Clint’s pillow close. Clint’s smiling again already, and he feels like his face in going to get stuck that way if this keeps up, but that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make for Steve.

 

He moves to the bed and kneels at Steve’s side, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “Steve. Wake up for a sec.”

 

Steve grunts and his eyebrows pinch together as he tunes in just enough to what Clint’s saying. “Yeah?”

 

“How do you make waffles?”

 

The eye closest to Clint drags open groggily. “Wha’?”

 

“If you want waffles, you gotta impart some wisdom here. I’d turn to the wonders of the net, but I don’t remember my neighbor’s wi-fi password.”

 

Clint’s not sure what it says about him that he can read the extent of Steve’s confusion in the length of time between blinking his eyes, but he can, so that’s that. “If you don’ know how t’make waffles, then why’re you try’na make waffles?”

 

“’Cause waffles are your favorite.” So far as Clint’s concerned, that’s a common sense fact of life these days, but he can see where Steve might not be following his particular train of thought. The surprise factor was a bonus he was originally aiming for in the first place.

 

But something about that seems to be unbelievably profound to Steve, ‘cause all of sudden he’s wide awake and gazing at Clint like he’s something unaccountably special.

 

Feeling a frown tug down the corners of his mouth, Clint demands, “What’s with the look?”

 

“Nothin’,” Steve replies. His head’s turned on the pillow just enough that he can look at Clint full on, and the sun coming in through his window (the curtains are still a work in progress, so sue him) is highlighting him just right, and he’s smiling at Clint so soft and fond-like that Clint’s about to melt from an overload of perfection. “I’m just wonderin’ how I managed to land the sweetest guy on the block.”

 

The blush is automatic and all-encompassing. Clint ducks his head and tries to brush it off with a joke. “Just the block, huh? Gonna have to step up my game.”

 

“Nah, that’s all right,” Steve says, propping himself up on his elbow so he can lean into Clint’s space. “I think you’re pretty perfect as you are.”

 

Given that his blush can’t get any brighter and Steve’s too close to hide his face from, ordinarily this is where Clint would start gnawing on his lip to keep himself from shoving his foot in his mouth as he tends to do when he gets all flustered, but Steve’s lips are kind of in the way of that, so Clint has to settle for kissing the sappy goob right back.

**Author's Note:**

> “You’re not helping.”
> 
> “What do you call walking you through each step in painstaking detail?”
> 
> “Useless when a damn octopus is hindering my movements.”
> 
> “That sounds like a personal problem.”
> 
> “Personal _space_ problem, maybe.”
> 
> “Oh, sure. I’ll just leave you to it then—“
> 
> “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
> 
> “Why? D’you miss me or something?”
> 
> “Yeah, yeah. Gloat it up, you smug bastard.”


End file.
